


It's Late, and We Should Be Seeping, Not Questioning.

by mandaree1



Series: Teen!Delinquent AU [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Can be read without working through the rest of the series, Can count as a prequel, Gen, Insomnia, They're questioning their everything, Unofficial addition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the middle of the night, and they're fighting for their rights to not have a bedtime and to eat as much sugar as they want. They refuse to call it insomnia, because their grunkles never did, and they knew best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Late, and We Should Be Seeping, Not Questioning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is right after Weirdmageddon, so it's a prequel to our current story!

Mabel knows that sneaking out is technically a bad thing, but it's not like she's sneaking _out_ out. Just, you know, to the living room.

Things had started going south once they got home. Apparently, coming home with a pig is A Bad Thing. So is not going to sleep at the scheduled time of her superiors.

A bedtime, they called it. Ha! Unconstitutional, is what _she_ calls it. Grunkle Stan had given them a whole list of reasons why such things were stupid by nature their first night in Gravity Falls, and great uncle Ford had been just as likely to be up _with_ them than to be sleeping. Those guys; now, they got it.

Dipper gets it, too. They'd been living off insta-food and the odd waffle breakfast, and now they were being forced to go cold turkey. Bedtimes, _and_ no snacks? How did they live with themselves? She had just as much right to watch a horror movie at two in the morning with a case of Pitt-Cola as the next guy. (And, by guy, she means twin, because her bro would totally watch horror movies with her before dawn, just to get a laugh out of life.)

"They're just doing what they think is right." Dipper makes excuses as he tiredly paces the floor on his side of the room. "We have school tomorrow."

"That's what Mabel Juice is for!" Mabel informs him. "Or, y'know, coffee. But Mabel Juice is better for you. Better tasting, too."

" _Right_." He hums, but she can hear the sarcasm to his words. Doubter! It really _is_ healthier, especially after she took out some of the plastic dinosaurs, as per Ford's request. "You know how they are."

"Yeah, yeah. Totally worried, until they're not." She sighs, flopping face first onto her pillow. "They trust us to bus all the way to Oregon, but not to eat and sleep properly."

"Technically," Dipper replies hesitantly. "We're not."

"That's not the issue here and we all know it!" She sticks a finger into the air in protest, lounging back on her bed, although, deep down, that probably _is_ the issue here. Sleep just... hasn't been that fun lately, is all. "Mom and dad have taken away our right to be awake in peace. Exhibit A!" She glares at the bedroom door. "The locked exit."

"Hey, at least they fed us before they locked us in. And give us bathroom breaks."

"Of course they did, Dippingsauce. They're not _barbarians_." Mabel dismisses. Mom and dad have always been a bit off, as far as parents are concerned, or so she hears. "Ghost Harassers is marathoning tonight!"

Dipper bit his lip thoughtfully, tapping a pen to his cheek. She didn't even see him grab it, he's so fast with those things. "Do we even have the Used To Be About History channel?"

"Stan did, and he only got basic." She points out. "Just a bunch of wrestling shows and religious sermons. We get all the awesome stuff."

Dipper begins to gnaw at the pen, eyes squinted. She's certain he's questioning his faith now, and she doesn't blame him. With guys like Bill around, who _knows_ what really created life on earth? Heck, it might've even been Bill, getting a good laugh out of the bags of flesh he'd glued together with magic and thrown onto a random ball in space.

Of course, that would require him being able to affect the physical world at that time, but you get the point here. This 'god' fellow- lady? Probably both or neither since they knew their way around a human body, now that she thought about it- may not be so great after all.

Right. Never telling mom and dad that. Ever.

"They locked all the good stuff in the top cabinet." He muses finally. "So they must think we're too short, and therefore helpless."

"We may be tiny, but we're not helpless. We're _technically teenagers._ We do what we want!" She wears Wendy's title for the badge of pride it is.

"But is it _worth_ it?" Dipper presses, too busy chewing to pace. "By breaking the rules we show a form of desperation. A weakness, or a lack of morals. Or both."

"Dipper?" Mabel says finally, voice fierce.

"Yeah?"

"They took my grappling hook."

A pause. "Well, that changes things. They've left us without a means of protecting ourselves from the monsters. Therefore, it's _their_ fault we have to go to such extremes."

"You're in, then?"

"Very much so. You wanna pick the lock, lady Mabes?"

She skittered over to the door, a hairpin and, of all things, a credit card in hand. Dipper raises an eyebrow.

"Where did you-"

"Grunkle Stan gave it to me for practice." She grunted, focused on the task at hand.

"Ah." He spat out the pen, tucking it into his shirt pocket. "I see."

Their bedroom door swung open ominously, letting the shadows of the hallway creep into the room. Dipper nonchalantly turned their light off. "It's a good thing we're not scared of the dark."

"Scared?" She tilts her head to the side. "Darkness is the best! It's the only reason we ever make it anywhere."

They crept down the stairs, brushing shoulders here and there. Mabel grips the tools like lifelines, surprised at how wrong this all feels. We've done worse just hanging out with Wendy, she tells herself, and it makes her feel slightly better. This is far from her first or worse offense.

She flops down on the big armchair in the living room. Dipper holds out his hands.

"You find the channel; I'll get the snacks." He whispers. She gives him the tools.

He disappears into the kitchen, then returns, arms full of chips and soda. The grappling hook hangs limply from his waist, clinging to his belt loop. Dipper hops up beside her. They drape their legs across their own halves of the seat.

Mabel doesn't even feel tired. Especially with that happens when she _is_ tired. They'll find them there, in the morning, possibly even asleep. She knows that. She also knows that she doesn't care.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can't tell me they slept well.


End file.
